I Can't Stop
by Malind
Summary: Charles invites Pietro to the mansion to ask him to join them.


Disclaimer: The X-Men universe and characters are owned by Marvel. I make no profit from this fanfiction.

6/14/14 - So, today, I was having a debate about Quicksilver. The debate eventually led to the urge to write this story. Instead of keeping it in, I went for it. This is based on the movie, but also keeps this quote from X-Factor Vol. 1, issue #87: "The X-Amination" in mind...

"Have you ever had a day where you are at the ATM and you are in a hurry because you're running late but the person in front of you doesn't know how to use the ATM and they're taking forever? Now imagine what it must be like to spend every day surrounded by people who don't know how to use the ATM."

This story takes place after the end of the X-Men: Days of Future Past, but in the new past.

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Session One**

Slow down. Slow down. Ssssssssssllllllooooooowwww dddooooooooooowwwwwnnnnnnn.

If he'd had a penny for every time he'd heard those two words, he'd have been able to pay a month or two of his mother's mortgage. Now, if he'd added in all of the times someone had thought it, he'd probably have been bordering on wealthy. If he'd added in all the times he'd told himself that same thing, he'd have been a multi-millionaire.

What those around him didn't seem to understand was that every one of them, every single thing around him was so unbelievably slow. At times, in all seriousness, he'd thought that instead of asking him to slow down, they should have sped up. After all, how many times had he slowed down to their level? How often had he moved his lips so slow, driving himself insane in the process, just so they could comprehend with their slow minds?

/You wouldn't understand./

His mind repeated the simple phrase hundreds of times during those couple of seconds while his mouth moved, so that the phrase was imprinted in his mind. All so that he wouldn't forget what he was trying to tell the man before him.

Charles smiled oh so slowly, leaning forward slightly in his wheelchair. Instead of speaking out loud, the man whispered in his mind. /No, I don't. I probably never could. However, whether or not I understand, that knowledge wouldn't really help you anyway./ The thoughts were slow, but certainly faster than if the man had tried to speak them.

Pietro smiled and forced that smile to stay, until he was sure Charles had seen it. In his mind, sure the other man was listening, he thought out each word with steady effort, /you're right. It wouldn't matter./

Slowly, he watched the comprehension express itself on the brown-haired man's face. Pietro's smile increased in a split second. Perhaps, despite his answer, the telepath's understanding would have mattered... just a little.

Charles moved his arm, slowly reaching... for his own hair apparently. The silver-haired man had seen the man tuck his hair behind his ear before. Saving him the effort, he reached out and put the soft long locks behind one ear and then did the same with the other, just because he could.

The other man blinked, his hand coming to a stop. /If a person didn't know better, they'd say you could see the future... and change it./

Pietro watched him, taking the time to think about the words and Charles himself, knowing he had the time. Charles Xavier, the man was indeed a dilemma.

Physically, he was as slow as any other man, and even more so considering his condition. But his mind, the small bits of it he'd experienced were incredible. The intrusions into his mind made him crave more of them. It was something he had no control over. He couldn't stop Charles in the ways he could stop others. He couldn't even flee him. Not mentally, anyway. Any other person, he'd be outside of the city before they even began to comprehend that he was long gone. With this man, he'd understand it as soon as he realized their sudden distance.

And then, from what he understood, if Charles wished it, he could actually stop him. The idea of it chilled him to the bone. After all, what the professor would consider only seconds, would seem like an eternity to him. If the man had any sense of mercy, he'd still his mind as well, or at least slow it down.

A frown slowly overtook the brown-haired man's face. Pietro knew the thought had been caught by the other man.

/Would you like me to? I could try./

The younger man was up and across the room well before the thought was finished. He tried to distract himself amongst the books of the study. He could have finished them all within an hour. So little to do. So much time.

If Charles could slow him down, what would that mean?

Curious, he sat back down in front of the other man and smiled, keeping it there well past what was comfortable. /I'll let you. Just to see if you can./

Slowly, oh so slowly, Charles' eyes closed. And then, his breathing sped up. His eyes opened faster. He leaned forward and didn't seem to take a year to do it. "So?"

Pietro blinked at the word, a word that came out about as quickly as his sped up music, and watched the other man smile about as quickly as he saw himself do in the mirror. "That..."

He felt an uneasiness build in his body. This was what he'd wanted, wasn't it? This was normal. Their normal. This was how it was supposed to be, how he was supposed to be. But then he couldn't stop the irrational terror creeping in. This wasn't right. This wasn't right.

Charles frowned. As quickly as it'd started, the world slowed back down. The professor began to shake his head. /I'm sorry./

As carefully as he could, he reached up to stop the motions, holding his hands there until he was sure they'd stopped. He didn't want to see the man's regret. Then he pulled his hands away, knowing Charles wouldn't be able to catch the motion.

/Just... Do it again./

It took an agonizing long amount of time to feel it again. He almost changed his mind. However, this time, as his mind slowed, Charles stayed back and watched him carefully.

"Do you have to concentrate much to do this?"

"Some. Enough." The older man smiled again. "I wouldn't be able to think of much else, outside of thinking about you."

Pietro felt his cheeks warm at the words. The man surely hadn't meant it as it had sounded. And what a sound. To hear someone else speak so quickly, so clearly... To need so little effort to comprehend them... The experience was amazing. He looked away. Outside, the breeze actually made the leaves on the trees move with a flutter. The sound of the clock ticking nearby pounded his ears with shocking repetition in the quiet room.

His eyes returned to the man in front of him. He reached out, holding out his hand, daring the other man, wanting to see. Charles gripped it easily. He could have only avoided the hand with effort.

Charles' smile broadened. "I asked you to come here because... If you stay with us, help us, you will be among friends."

When the older man's hand pulled away first, he let his own drop into his lap as he looked away. "I don't know." He laughed then. "I'm not exactly trustworthy. The cops have been to my house more times than I'll admit."

"I know." The telepath put his hands together on his lap. "But people change. I believe you can change."

Pietro snorted. "You're sure about that?"

"Well, sometimes it takes time, but yes."

"I've got way too much time on my hands and that hasn't changed me."

"You've had little reason to change. I can give you a reason."

With Charles' intensity in his voice and face, the younger man felt the heat rise again. He knew the other man was just being nice. He knew Charles was just trying to gain his confidence and trust. Nonetheless, he couldn't stop the heat. He cleared his throat. Wasn't he past the age for crushes yet? "Charles, I..."

After a moment, with the brown-haired man surely knowing what was going through his head, or at least sensing it, he leaned forward again and re-clasped one hand. "Pietro, you are welcome here and I want you to stay. I only ask that you follow the rules of the house and do your share."

He could hear the dismissal of his emotions in the words. Frowning, he pulled his hand away. Suddenly the world and its "normal" pace seemed overbearing. He wanted out. Now. "Let me go," he hissed with an intensity he couldn't help but mean.

Instantly, Charles was gone from his mind and he fled. He didn't stop until he was out of the room and exiting the mansion. The telepath brushed his mind. He swallowed at the sensation. It took all of his strength to not go back inside and reenter the study. Instead, he let the sun warm him. Light, it was one of the few things that could move faster than he could. He ran into the light.

/Come back when you're ready./

/I will./

 **Chapter 2: Session Two**

His shoeless feet up on the leather couch, his arms crossed over his black t-shirt and covering the word on it, Pietro stared up at the ceiling, tracing the manmade patterns with his eyes, amazed at the shadows and flickers of light that moved so quickly across it. It reminded him of one of the reasons he'd come back to the mansion: to be able to again see things move as quickly as he did.

Then Charles shifted slightly, bringing the silver-haired man's attention back to him. It was attention that brought slight color to Pietro's cheeks as it quickened his pulse.

Trying to lighten the mood and his own heartbeat, Pietro muttered with a smirk, "So, Doc, can I be cured?"

"I doubt it..." Smiling, Charles huffed a small laugh at a rate that was probably the telepath's best estimation of what normal speed was, making the younger man look at him, losing Pietro in his smile. "But I -will- attempt to make things a little bit better for you."

Still sucked in by the smile, when Pietro realized the hormonal road he was once again traveling, he gritted his teeth and looked back to the ceiling. If anything, with far too much time to think about Charles over the course of a week, Pietro knew his childish crush had become far worse and was the other reason he couldn't bear to stay away any longer.

Seriously though, what the hell was wrong with him? He could control himself, was nearly an expert at controlling himself, well, when he wanted to. Yet he couldn't with Charles. The proof of it was in him lying there on Charles' couch, his sanity apparently gone and his jumble of emotions apparently no longer reason enough to make him run.

To make matters worse, with Charles now in his mind, surely the other man knew the thoughts and emotions Pietro tried with every fiber of his being to conceal. Knowing everything Charles had probably seen in his mind made him queasy. And with that knowledge came the fight against the urge to end Charles' permitted invasion.

But then again, Pietro thought, trying to ease himself, perhaps the telepath was so used to intruding in someone's mind that he could stick to the task at hand and avoid irrelevant thought processes. At least, that was what he'd told himself to allow Charles back in. To think otherwise only brought overwhelming embarrassment that tensed every part of him.

But really, how could he be expected to control his thoughts and keep them safe for an observer's mind? Charles couldn't really expect that, could he?

It didn't help his dilemma that, beyond Pietro's hormones, Charles was like no other. The brunette was the only person in the world he could talk to with so little effort.

Of course, they probably could walk the halls of the mansion together and he could listen and talk to others.

But Charles' smiles, his laugh, his voice...

The silver-haired man blew a huff of air through his nose, frustrated with his lack of control over everything. He craved to be near the other man, despite the consequences. He was selfish and he knew that but, well, he couldn't help it.

Pietro closed his eyes with a tiny shake of his head. "Can you..."

"I try my best to stay where I'm wanted."

"But?"

"Unless I control your mind to stop them, I'll catch stray thoughts. It really can't be helped."

"How..." Pietro tilted his head to the side, so that he could look at the man seated on the leather chair next to the couch. Charles' wheelchair sat empty near them. "How can you stand it then? How can you do it? Be in someone's head?"

Especially his.

"It's not easy," Charles admitted, as his hand gripped slightly at the armrests of his chair. "When we met, I was more than happy to be rid of my ability. But unfortunately, it does have its uses, and I can't deny who and what I am, especially when I tell others to do the same."

"And you think this is going to help me?"

"I don't know. That's up to you. We could continue these sessions for years, I suppose. Or you could decide you've come to terms with your abilities and this is no longer wanted."

No longer wanted? Pietro shifted his gaze to ceiling, thinking on it, knowing in the back of his mind that Charles was witnessing at least traces of his thoughts, if not every bit.

If only this man could understand how... absolutely wonderful and terrifying their time together was.

This session was only the second time he'd been in Charles' study, been a willing participant in their grand little experiment, but already he couldn't imagine life without it. He'd lived for what felt like hundreds, if not thousands of years, and this was the first time he could talk to someone and not have to force every single elongated second of it. He didn't want it to end.

Of course, how could he do this all the time to Charles when the other man had commitments, had a life? A day to Charles would seem infinitely longer to him. If he kept this up, he would hunger for it all the time, or at least, it would seem that way to Charles.

No, he couldn't let himself become dependent on this, on Charles. It wouldn't be fair to the other man. The realization formed a black pit in his stomach. Raking a hand through his hair and then keeping it there, he gripped his silver hair until it bordered on painful.

"Pietro, you needn't worry about me. I will always find time for you."

The words thudded his heart, and he scrunched his eyes for a moment and sucked in a heavy breath to try to steel his heart. Did the other man say such things on purpose? Or was Charles merely so concerned that he truly meant them, even if the older man surely couldn't always hold himself to them?

Pietro let out a slow breath. "I'm sure you know what... what stupid thoughts are going through my head right now. You do know what they say about the doctor/patient relationship?"

"Yes. Yes, of course. I'm sorry. If it helps, this isn't easy for me either."

A slight exasperated chuckle came out of his chest and he smirked at Charles. "No, that doesn't really help."

Charles' smile met his smirk and it was one of the most beautiful things Pietro had ever seen. But with the acknowledgement, Charles lost his smile, turned his head away towards the window, slight color coming to his cheeks. Again, the realization, that this couldn't possibly be good for the older man, cursed his mind.

Charles had been in his mind for several minutes now. Surely this was doing little for the brunette's sanity. Surely the man could only take so much of it. Curious, worried, he murmured, "How long are you normally in a person's head?"

"As little time as it takes," Charles admitted, looking then at the hands folded on his lap.

"I'm sorry."

Charles lifted his gaze and smiled. "Don't worry about me."

The smile warmed the younger man, but he couldn't let it get in any further. He finally sat up so that he could look at the other man without twisting his head. "Maybe we shouldn't do this." The words were a severe understatement. "What good could really come of it?"

"I don't know. But that doesn't mean I want to stop."

Those words did get to him, made his heart race with the wish that they meant something more. He couldn't help it. "I can't stop everything in my mind."

Charles nodded. "So we'll work around it, or work through it."

Pietro couldn't stop the shaking of his head either. It disturbed him because he knew Charles saw every movement. He knew, at that moment, he couldn't hide himself as he'd been doing his whole life. "Why are you doing this for me?"

"Because I want to help you."

"You don't have to help me in this way."

"No, I don't, but I want to."

Pietro swallowed. "Why?"

At the single word, the other man again shifted his gaze again to the window. Pietro knew what was going on in his own mind. Add that to whatever Charles had swarming in his own...

Pietro frowned at a new realization: Based on what he knew from reading thousands of books on numerous topics, including psychology, he wondered if Charles could be forced to think something, to think in some certain way, because he'd heard it so much in another's mind. Could Charles be resilient enough to stop a near forced progression of human thought?

No, this couldn't be good for Charles. He was about to say as much when Charles said:

"I'm doing this because I want to. If I ever need to stop, I will, I assure you."

Pietro didn't believe him, didn't believe he would stop, not until the younger man ordered him to leave his mind.

But could someone really be that good? That selfless?

Pietro wished he could reach out and touch the telepath again, as he'd done before with the locks of hair, but now, he would have been caught in the act and perhaps stopped. He frowned when he realized Charles' breaths had grown heavier, still gazing out the window, and then Charles tucked a lock of hair behind his ear.

Blinking, Pietro tried to drag his mind back to safer territory. How could this ever be good for Charles?

"I think we should stop now." The younger man rose to his feet, slipped on his jacket he'd rested over the arm of the couch, and then bent over to pull on his shoes.

Charles was already looking up at him, a slight frown on his face. Pietro would have given everything he owned and stolen to know what was going through the other man's mind. The time lengthened as the clock ticked in the background, but it was still normal time, at least for the rest of the population.

"Charles, let me go."

The frown deepened. Charles' breathing slowed down, as did his blinks and the turning of his head, as his mind slipped away. Instantly, Pietro regretted the loss. But it was better this way. It was.

Unable to help himself, a slave to his own desires for so long, he reached out and tucked behind Charles' other ear the other lock of hair partially blocking his face, and then smiled.

Oh so slowly, with effort, he said, "Thank you for trying," and was out of the mansion before the other man could blink.

 **Chapter 3: Session Three**

For a week, then two, for a seeming eternity, Pietro growled whenever he caught his eyes repeatedly finding the phone in the basement. He tried to distract himself by running around town, but a minute later, he'd end up in his own basement again with the contraption taunting him. Or, worse, along the way, he'd spot payphones on the street and phones beyond store windows practically yelling to be used.

Eventually, he gave up and just left town, roaming the countryside and stopping himself whenever he found himself traveling in the direction of the mansion.

Had he really grown this obsessed with Charles and what the man could do for him? Could do to him? Just the mere thought brought him to ache. Worse, he didn't know anymore what he hungered more for: Charles' ability or the man himself. It'd gotten to the point where he could no longer separate the two.

Sitting on a sun-warmed rock, looking out on the lake and its slow-motion ripples, the water caught up in the wind, he wondered what ifs:

What if Charles hadn't had his telepathic ability? Would he have felt this same burning sensation in his body? What if Charles wised up and put the final end to their nearly non-existent relationship, well, to their professional relationship? Would Pietro be able to take it?

He knew the answers to the latter questions. Surely he'd be able to deal with the rejection as he'd dealt with everything else. After all, most of the time, he could read the slow-motion €˜no' on a person's face long before the word could reach their mouth. But then why did the mere idea of Charles saying €˜no' make every part of him, outside of his rational mind, feel pain?

As for the first questions, had Charles been normal, yes, there was the good chance that Pietro would have given him the same consideration as any other person outside of his family, which was basically no consideration.

Perhaps he'd just lucked out in that the very man who made him burn could also talk to him, could be with him in a way normal people should be.

A bird caught his eye as it traveled in slow motion across the sky and into the trees in the distance. In watching it and its sure path, he realized the irony of what Charles had said during their last €˜session': Charles had said that he'd grudgingly accepted his own abilities. He'd done so to accept them and use them, yes, but also to encourage others to do the same. Yet, Charles was willing to make him normal, at least temporarily.

Shouldn't he have been encouraging Pietro to embrace his abilities? To work beyond their impairment? To do good for the world with them? Wasn't that Charles' mission? Or something like that anyway.

Much faster than he usually did, he blew out a huff of air that rippled the water deeper than the wind and made his lungs burn. Watching the water's dance for a moment, he made up his mind to see Charles again. After all, what was the point in denying himself something he wanted so badly, especially when Charles only encouraged him? And Charles wouldn't even have to know he was there.

Within minutes, he entered the lecture room, opening and closing the door so quickly that no one could have noticed it. Some of the teenagers were watching the professor attentively. Others were jotting down notes he read in a fraction of a second so that he could know what was being discussed: The biology of primates compared to humans. He could have guessed, although he probably would have sooner guessed the biology of humans compared to mutants. But perhaps that was a topic a bit out of the range for mentally standard 13 to 15 year olds, with a couple of students being much younger. Besides, high school was about learning everything the world had to offer, not just dwelling on a specific few irregularities in life. Or so he thought, he himself never having the patience for a normal slow school with normal slow teachers who would have driven him insane.

Lifting his goggles to rest on his forehead, Pietro sat down on a lab table and watched the room for a moment before he finally let his eyes rest again on the whole reason he'd come there. Seated in his wheelchair at the side of his desk, Charles was talking in earnest about something, his hand pointing to something he'd apparently written on the blackboard, something about the twinning effect that allowed some primates to consistently have multiples pregnancies.

He looked back to Charles, to his open mouth, listened to the strong sound of his voice that carried in the room. His facial hair had grown since he'd last seen him and he had to wonder if the man was taking care of himself. The dark circles under his eyes told him that Charles hadn't been sleeping well and he wondered why.

Then he felt a familiar caress on his mind. How had Charles become so familiar so quickly? At that moment, he should have moved, ran back out the door, but he found he didn't want to. Slowly the brunette turned his head towards him. And then a smile began to form. In his mind, he heard his voice.

/Are you here to learn something?/

Teenagers' heads began to turn in his direction.

/No. I know enough about biology. Far more than I want to./

Charles' smile turned brilliant as he introduced him to the class, telling them his name and that he could move faster than any creature on the planet, and quite possibly the universe. Pietro watched some teenagers begin to whisper to one another, while others smiled and waved. He smiled back cautiously with a stiff, human-speed wave that only involved his forearm, not really comfortable in being the center of attention.

/If you're willing to wait, class will end in another 15 minutes./

He pursed his lips, considering it. What had happened to flashing in and then back out without anyone noticing? But, then again, did he really want to leave?

No, he didn't.

With a delay Charles probably hadn't perceived, Pietro thought, /Okay./

/Good./

The man's smile turned back to the class as he finished up the lecture. Eventually all heads turned back to him or to their notes. Eventually he followed Charles back to the study, walking next to him.

Pietro watched every controlled movement of Charles' strong arms, limbs that were surely only becoming stronger with each passing day as his legs grew weaker from disuse. Charles looked ahead to their destination, nodding an occasional greeting with a smile, but then slowly looked up when he seemed to become aware of his stare. And it was a stare. Pietro didn't think he could ever grow bored in watching him. Then slight color blossomed on the older man's cheeks and increased into a definite blush. He felt his own heat up when he realized the reaction was caused solely by him. He stopped dead in his tracks. Charles moved forward a bit more before he apparently realized the sudden stop of his companion.

Again, Charles touched his mind. Knowing then he could hear him, Pietro thought, /This isn't a good idea./

/We don't have to do it, if you'd prefer not to. We could merely talk with one another just like this./

The way the other man had thought it, it'd almost sounded like they were talking about sex. Pietro cleared his throat, looking away, hoping Charles hadn't caught that stray thought. /Yeah, okay./

Only a few feet away from the door, Pietro followed the other man into the study and then immediately took a seat back on the couch, Charles' head still turning to offer him a seat. He watched him blink and then turn his head to the couch. Finally, the slowness of everything grated on him. People's confusion normally gave him something to chuckle about and pat himself on the back for, a way of dealing with people he'd developed when he was a child. Now, it just felt so wrong.

/Just-just do it./

His cheeks still slightly pink, Charles frowned for a human moment and then quickened the world, or at least Pietro's did. The silver-haired man looked around, but the room and its quickness wasn't quite as amusing as the last time.

"We could take a walk, if you like. We certainly don't have to restrict ourselves to one room."

At the first words, he'd looked back to Charles. Then he smiled and stood back up, finding the idea intriguing. But then he heard the voices in the hallway, fast voices that were attached to people he didn't know. The smile dropped from his face as he looked to the door.

"I'll let you go the moment you wish it." Charles smiled when Pietro looked back. "You're not my prisoner."

After shooting a glace back at the heavy wood door that muffled the sounds on the other side, he muttered, "Okay."

Charles' smile grew and Pietro couldn't help but return it, letting himself warm in it. Did the other man have any idea how beautiful he was when he smiled? He'd thought it before he'd caught himself, remembering who was in his head.

His smile all but gone, Charles looked to the door and then back at him with a slight smirk. "Let's get this over with, shall we?"

"Yeah."

The time they spent roaming the school was a time he'd never forget. The students always had smiles for their professor and he always had smiles for them. Charles talked with them, joked with them, and made them feel like they were home. And as he'd told Pietro, they were home and it could be his home if he wanted it to be.

The idea of being so close to Charles every day again brought heat to his body, despite his will to keep it at bay. No one else seemed to notice the turmoil, but Charles did as he watched him carefully when they'd entered the garden outside.

"I know I don't need to say it, Pietro, but you are welcome here and you always will be."

Standing next to him, Pietro considered Charles' words, looking to the trees and flowers that decorated the landscape. It was a beautiful place, far more than he deserved. And his family. What would his family do without him? What would he do without them?

Charles touched the palm of his hand, a slight caress, barely noticeable, but Pietro instantly looked down the moment he felt it. The older man's eyes met his as his hand dropped back to the arm rest, and left Pietro wondering why he'd stopped. Or, more importantly, why he'd done it in the first place. To comfort him? Probably. Or for some other reason...

Heat renewed its hold over his body as he tore his gaze away to look at the much safer landscape.

"What you're feeling... Perhaps you're right. This time we spend together will probably wear on us both."

At the words, Pietro's body chilled completely. He couldn't breathe. Over the previous three weeks, he'd had too much time to think about everything, to build up this desire inside of himself that he couldn't squash. Far too much time. Still, he hadn't expected the €˜no' to hurt quite this much. He opened his mouth to beg Charles to let his mind go so that he could run back to the safety of his home and family and never look back. However, the moment he did, Charles grasped his hand in his strong one, weighting him down mentally as much as physically.

"Pietro," Charles rasped, forcing the younger man to look back down. Charles looked him in the eye with a conviction that thudded his heart. "Stop running from me."

The silver-haired man gritted his teeth, trying to control his riled up emotions, trying to find the peace Charles obviously wanted him to find within himself. "I don't want to be the cause of any of your pain." When Charles opened his mouth, he gripped the hand already holding his own and added, "And don't tell me to not worry about you."

Slowly, the telepath smiled. Pietro had to look away when he realized how much he wanted to kiss those smiling lips. He felt Charles other hand overlap their hands and pull them towards him. Darting a gaze downwards...

Stunned wouldn't have been a good enough for describing what he felt when he saw the older man close his eyes and pressed his lips to the top of his wrist. The simple gesture made him feel faint.

Then rational thought got the better of him. No. No, this wasn't right for reasons he already knew. The telepath had been in his mind for nearly an hour, surely far too long. With the empathy the telepath surely felt, Charles could have been doing this with any other person he opened his mind to who lusted after him. "Charles, don't. You're not feeling this. It's me."

Charles blinked up at him, but when he made no motion to stop himself, Pietro put his hand over theirs, pulling it away from Charles' lips, and knelt down so that he could be eye to eye with the brunette. Their hands rested together on the armrest. In a selfish moment, he almost let himself enjoy their closeness. But no, he couldn't let this happen. It wasn't right.

The older man looked down at their hands, a frown growing on his face, as he seemed to realize what was happening. It almost made Pietro wish he'd instead pulled him closer and kissed him.

Quietly, when the moment lengthened, Pietro whispered, "Charles?"

The sudden withdraw of the telepath's mind left him breathless. Time slowed down and it took him a moment to realize Charles was pulling his hands away. Regretfully, he let them go and stood. The frown never left Charles' face.

/Please excuse me. I'm due for my next class./

Charles nodded to him and then looked up at him carefully for a normal moment before he turned around and reentered the mansion, leaving Pietro alone in the afternoon sun, with no direction, with his regret.

 **Chapter 4: Session Four**

Still standing outside where he'd been left, trying to let the sun warm him, trying to find peace in some misplaced effort to appease the professor, Pietro eventually spotted a bench and moved to sit down on it. It was only a couple minutes later, but he'd already pointlessly shifted through so many emotions and what ifs that, if he was looking for peace, his efforts weren't working.

Sitting there, he realized, instead of attempting to deal with everything, he just needed to stop his mind, stop his childish crush that was ruining his chances of having a friendship with a wonderful man who he knew he didn't deserve. He huffed out a pained breath at the thought, clenched his eyes shut, and gripped his hair as his elbows rested on his knees.

This wasn't the first time he'd felt something for another, he hated to admit. But this was far worse than his adolescent hormonal interests that he'd, for the most part, shredded from his memories.

He just... He needed the connection. Everything in him screamed for it and it was beyond frustrating. He was a person who'd been born to struggle through every human interaction. The chance to have it easy...

Then again, he was probably fooling himself that slowing down was the fix-all for him. Could a relationship ever be simple, outside of the brotherly love he felt for his sister? If he looked at his relationship with Charles, then no, slowing down had done little to help theirs.

Pietro sputtered out a half-laugh with a shake of his head that was restricted by the grips in his hair. No, probably nothing in life was simple outside of family, but did his life have to be so complex in this respect?

When three minutes had passed, a voice in his head straightened his back:

/If you're willing to stick around... We should talk about this./

The words brought so much relief that he nearly felt like was going to feint right there. /Yeah. Okay./

/Good. Please feel free to explore. My home is yours./

And then Charles left his mind. Quickly, some of the regret and embarrassment returned, but it thankfully didn't bear down on him like before.

Pietro caught himself smiling at the thought of having yet another chance. He could control himself. He could work beyond the craziness in his mind and body. He would. He had to.

Biting his lip in concentration, the silver-haired man breathed in a deep breath through his nose, catching the scent of the flowers in the distance. He let his body mold into the round shape of the hard wooden bench and sat there with his eyes closed, his arms across his chest. He didn't need to explore. He'd seen enough with Charles and in the moments he'd looked for him that day and his prior visits.

Instead, he tried to still his mind, letting the sun warm him, and waited for Charles to call on him. Every bad thought that started, he squashed with some effort. Already long before that day, he'd become tired of hearing his own mind. Charles was much more pleasant to listen to, so he spent his time thinking about Charles' words instead.

An hour later, he finally heard him. /You're still outside?/

/Yeah. I didn't see much point in moving./

/Okay. I'll come to you./

The sound of Charles drifted over before he caught sight of the man. At the noise, he straightened, looking towards the door that would soon open. As Charles left the mansion and caught sight of him, the brunette smiled. There was nothing that could have stopped Pietro from returning the smile.

The younger man stood and started walking to meet him but stopped when he heard Charles.

/Stay there./

The wheelchair maneuvered the thin stone sidewalk and Pietro resigned himself to sitting back down.

When the professor finally arrived next to him, he gestured to the bench and asked, /May I?/

Pietro shifted over and watched as Charles locked the wheels, shifted, and managed to maneuver his body until he was seated next to him on the bench. Pietro had to hold his breath through most of it because it seemed to take forever, the straining of the other man's muscles, the time his body was suspended in the air, the clunk of his body when he finally made contact.

When Charles met his gaze, the older man huffed out a laugh and smiled again. /You look terrified./

Pietro blinked, shook himself mentally, and huffed his own short laugh. /Sorry... Watching something like that in slow motion is a bit.../

/Don't worry. I'll try to stay within my capabilities for you./

The younger man smiled and looked to his feet. He couldn't have explained the relief he felt with Charles smiling at him, acting like the event an hour before hadn't happened. But he also knew the calm wouldn't last because the other man had specifically come to him to talk about it. And then, on cue, the mere thought of what had happened made his pulse race against his will.

/Do you mind if I.../

/Are you sure you want to?/

/Yes./

The single word brought his eyes up to meet the other man's gaze. He swallowed and then nodded slowly enough for the other man to catch it, not trusting his mind to speak for him. But even during the motion, the thought already caught, the world quickened and he forced himself to look away, worried what his face would betray, as if the man wasn't already in his mind.

"I'm sorry I left you like that. I was... a bit overwhelmed."

"No, I understand why you left. I just... I don't want this to come between us." Again, thinking about Charles, the man being so close, his pulse raced and he tried to calm himself down. Then he smiled a bit sheepishly, glancing at the man next to him. "I want us to be friends." More than he wanted to sleep with this beautiful man.

Charles looked away, to the distant tree, bit his bottom lip for a moment, and then finally looked back at him with a small smile. Pietro returned it hesitantly, not sure if the other man's expression was a good thing. The telepath's gaze dropped to the Pietro's hands gripped together in the younger man's lap, to the hand Charles had kissed an hour before.

As if the telepath couldn't bear to say the words, in his mind, Pietro heard, /Do you really want me so much?/

Instant heat consumed the silver-haired man. His hands strained to touch some part of Charles to make the words real, but he couldn't.

Surely this wasn't the first time someone had lusted after the professor. Surely he had other admirers. Surely their short time together couldn't be affecting Charles that much.

But perhaps being in Pietro's head had twisted the older man's thoughts far more than Pietro had realized. With the dark circles under his eyes, he suddenly feared he was the cause of Charles' sleepless nights, of his pain, the very thing he'd wanted to avoid.

"No, I haven't been sleeping well. You're correct in that I think about you. I've been attempting to work this out in my head."

Unable to help his wonder, he murmured, "You think about me?"

Charles met his eyes, smiling. "Is that really so shocking?"

Pietro's mouth opened but no words came out. He didn't have a clue how to respond. This conversation wasn't doing a single thing to help him squash his crush. He wanted to touch the other man so badly it hurt. And at that moment, he knew Charles knew what he wanted to do but the man still didn't look away.

Hesitantly, waiting for rejection, Pietro shifted so that he could better face the man beside him and leaned forward. When he felt Charles' heavy breaths near his mouth, the telepath closed his eyes. Heat pooled in his groin as he closed his own and brushed his lips over Charles', blessed in mercy that he could do so and no worry about hurting him accidentally if he moved too quickly.

Warm hands touched his cheeks, holding him there as Charles' soft lips kissed him so tenderly, his facial hair a sweet contrast to the softness. He mimicked the motion, deepening the kiss oh so willingly when Charles did. His right hand gripped the bench for support while his other one touched Charles' cheek and then shifted around to twine itself into brunette locks.

He'd never kissed someone like this before. And he was grateful that Charles obviously had, if his wonderful mouth was any indication of that. Grateful that he could take direction from him. And oh so grateful to feel warmth entering his mind from Charles' mind. The desire the other man felt seemed to equal his own, and meshed with his own so much so that he wasn't sure where Charles' ended and his began.

And this was only a kiss.

Sure he was about to pass out from a lack of proper air and the burning of his body, Pietro pulled back slightly. Just against the other man's lips, he mumbled, "I think this is going to kill me."

He felt the man smile against his lips. "Should we stop?"

"God... Please don't stop."

Charles kissed him again, and if there was such thing as a heaven, Pietro was sure he was in it.

 **Chapter 5: The Family of Secrets**

Notes:  
Unfortunately the movie doesn't go into depth much with Pietro's background. His sister doesn't even get named. Sooo... I'm winging it.

In a t-shirt and shorts, Pietro laid with his body draped over the couch, lines of sun heating up parts of his legs. Some obnoxious Saturday morning TV program blared while sounds of breakfast clunked from the kitchen. His eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling, not really interested in the outside world. He could only think about the kiss Charles and he had shared three days before and everything it entailed.

The long, slow, stomach twisting, groin heating, kiss that made him want to take the man down to the ground and pound into him in the middle of the afternoon where anyone passing by could have seen them. He closed his eyes briefly, trying but failing again to forget about it, at least for that morning.

"Why do you keep smiling?"

His eyes flashed open when he realized his sister had quietly come up on him in her princess slippers. "What?" He shook his head. "It's nothing. Go watch your cartoons."

"It's a commercial." The girl frowned at him but her mouth still managed to smirk. In a sing-song voice, she teased, "Are you in looooove?" She instantly giggled at her own words. "Mom said she heard you talking on the phone and she said you're in love and that's why you keep smiling."

Pietro barked out a bit of laughter, feeling heat rise to his skin. Maybe his inner turmoil was more obvious than he'd thought. And apparently he had to make sure the basement door was closed from then on.

"No, I'm not in love." Was he?

Another smirk plastered itself on her face. "I think you are. I think you are in: L. O. V. E."

"Hush now." Grinning himself, he grabbed her shoulder, turned her around, and gave her a small shove back to the pillow she'd been sitting on. "Go watch your cartoons before I change the channel."

Semi-obediently, she slumped her way back over to her seat, looking over her shoulder. After she sat down, her tiny voice started an all too familiar song: "Pietro and somebody sittin' in a tree. K. I. S. S. I. N. G. First comes-"

He took that moment to throw the small, firm pillow underneath his head at the back of her head. She twisted her head and back to giggle at him.

Pietro huffed a laugh and rubbed his hands over his eyes.

The single word, "Breakfast," drifted its way into the living room. The girl was instantly up and running to the dining room. He follow her a moment later and sat down across from her. When his mother finally sat down after serving them, he looked between the two women in his life, smiling, unable to help it.

Watching them eat, he opened his mouth, closed it, and then tried again. Finally, he said over the clinks, "I was thinking about maybe moving out."

Both sets of eyes shifted up to him, both wide. Yeah, he was a bit shocked himself.

"There's a school I was thinking about attending. There's people like me there. Lots of them. There's even someone like that man you dated years ago. You know, the one who was on the news a long time ago, ah, destroying Washington D.C."

His mother took that moment to choke on the water she was drinking. Between the coughs, she sputtered, "Excuse me."

He blinked at her with a frown, but then she seemed to regain her composure, so he shrugged it off, at least for the most part, and continued with, "So yeah. That's what I've been thinking about." He looked pointedly to his sister, smiling, and stated, "And that's what the phone calls have been about."

The girl opened her mouth, then frowned, her mind visually processing the information. Then suddenly she looked near tears. "You're leaving?"

"No, well, yeah. But I won't be far away. And I'll call you every day and visit every week at least."

The words were no help for the girl's tears, her brother being the only father figure she had outside of her grandpa. "But... But..." She looked to their mom for help.

The woman cleared her throat. "Well, I do understand. It's just a bit sudden. And after everything that's happened... No, I think it would be good for you. I mean, you can't stay here your whole life."

"But," his sister tried again, "you said you weren't in love!"

Pietro's jaw dropped before he could stop it, his heart breaking as hers did in slow motion. He looked to his mom. She had a similar expression at her daughter's words, her eyes on the girl. And then he ran. He couldn't help it. He was out the door and sitting on the front steps before either person could realize he was gone. He sat there and cried, wiping awful tears from his eyes before they had a chance to wet his cheeks.

The last thing he wanted was to cause his family pain. And if this apparent love-affair didn't work out, what was he going to do? After he left his family in pieces, like his father had done, was he going to come crawling back, begging for his place back in the basement?

He hacked out a humorless laugh and gripped his hair. A minute later, he heard the front door open and a hand touched his shoulder.

The woman sighed lightly. "You always were my problem child." He could hear the smile in her voice. "I think it's a good idea. I really do." The hand tightened. "And she'll get over it. Just make sure you come back and see her. See us." He placed a hand over hers. "And if things don't work out, you know you always have a home here."

The words brought new tears to his eyes. He didn't want to leave them. When she sat down next to him, he leaned his head on her shoulder while she patted his cheek.

"You know, you don't have to leave. I don't know exactly what's going on, but it does seem sudden. Maybe you should give it another week or two, to think about it."

Pietro smiled after her words floated away. "I'm really tired of thinking about it... Maybe I'll just stay there for a week or two, you know, to check it out. Maybe it's not as great as it seems."

"No, I'm sure it's wonderful. You know..."

When her voice stilled and she didn't continue, a minute later, he raised his head to look at her. Her slight wrinkles showed clearly as her thoughts took over her mind. She looked away when she apparently realized he'd moved. "What?"

"That man you talked about, his name is Erik?"

The woman unable to catch the movement, he straightened further and then stood and moved around her so that he could see her face. Her face told far more than her voice did, tears in her eyes, her lip between her teeth, staring out into the distance. He crouched down and touched her cheek. Slowly her eyes focused on him.

Then she huffed out a laugh and looked to her lap. "He was... a wonderful man. With so much ambition. He was unlike any other man I'd ever met. And during the time I knew him, I did love him. But I thought... I thought it would be better to forget because it wasn't meant to be." Tears finally did drip down. "I'm sorry."

He already knew the answer, felt he should have known it so much sooner, but needing affirmation, he whispered with far more calm than he felt, "What? What are you saying?"

"He's your father."

Lost in everything that had happened, he then felt empty thinking about it. His backside dropped to the sidewalk and he sat there, shaking his head, looking at his mother as she slowly raised her head. Then behind her, his sister peeked her head out the door, looking at them both. Probably when she realized her mom was crying, she moved to sit at her side and wrapped her arms around her. The woman wrapped her arms around her daughter's small frame and buried her face in her hair, hushing her when the girl mumbled confused words.

"I'm just going to miss him. That's all."

Pietro watched them together, biting back tears. He couldn't hold anything against his mother. The woman had always done the best with what she'd had.

His apparent father on the other hand...

Pietro couldn't take his eyes off of his family as his hardworking mother comforted their princess, both of them so innocent in his eyes. But their soft voices couldn't erase his mother's words from his mind: He's your father. The more the phrase repeated itself over and over again in his head, the less tears threatened, the darker his feelings of betrayal became.

Admittedly, he'd never given Erik much thought before that morning. The man had been an amusement, a coincidence, a terrorist, and Charles' friend. But he also knew at that moment, if he'd known who the man truly was, he would have left him in that plastic tomb to rot or done something far worse.

Caressing her daughter's cheek, his mother finally raised her head and took in the expression on his face. Her head beginning to shake, she blurted out as a small hiss, "Pietro, don't..."

Her words faded when she realized he'd stood up even before the €˜don't' could completely leave her lips. He shook his own head far faster than she could catch with her normal, fear-filled eyes.

Don't? If she'd had any intention of him not doing something, she never should have told him the truth in the first place. How could she possibly expect him to not act after that man had done so much damage to his family, never mind the world? And never mind that the man was supposedly reformed, again, even given access to Charles' home again only a year after the fact.

How could Charles have allowed that man back into his home?

But Charles didn't know, right? Right?!

"Who knows this?" His voice held a wrath that already etched his face.

Ignoring his sister when she lifted her head, the silver-haired man almost left the moment his mother opened her mouth, not wanting to hear it. Not wanting to hear any of it. Instead, he listened because he forced himself to, because he had to grow up and stop running away, because he had to know. After all, if Erik had known, let alone anyone else, it would have all hurt just that much more and he needed that anger to deal with the man.

"Pietro, he doesn't even know. I didn't tell him."

"Know what?" his sister asked, her voice small and unsure.

Her reply had managed to drain some of his anger, but then his anger went in a different direction against his will. He took an involuntary step forward. "How could you have not told him?"

The woman straightened, a certain degree of fear in her eyes that trembled his heart. "He was gone before I could. And then... He didn't seem like the same man. Or... I just hadn't realized what he truly was in the first place."

"And what is he?"

"He was a man with very serious problems." His sister began crying again, the girl having no way of knowing what they were discussing but the anger in their voices enough to bring the tears. The woman stood up, encouraged the girl up and held her to her side. "If you want to talk about this, we'll talk about it later tonight." Then she left him alone on the sidewalk, leaving the door open a crack behind her.

Alone, lost in his own misery, he again acknowledged his lack of direction, and it bothered him more than it ever had because he knew he should have been doing something, anything. Even killing his supposedly unwitting €˜father' was better than just standing there like a directionless idiot. But there were so many paths he could take, so many possible outcomes.

Yes, he'd made decisions before, had acted and reacted, but this was different. This wasn't just a moment of amusement. This truly mattered for some absurd reason.

Since when did his illusion of a father matter so much, one he'd properly discarded years before? Did it really matter?

Ready for the confrontation he had wanted, avoided for years, Pietro moved at inhuman speed to the basement, selecting clothing he knew didn't have any metal inside of it. It was one thing to be stopped by Charles, quite another to be stopped by Erik. It wouldn't have taken him much to remove the clothing at a moment's notice, but surely the other man could track him by metal as well which wouldn't help his cause, whatever that cause ended up being, nor did he really want to end up half-naked if he ended up shedding clothing. Thank goodness he had great teeth. Of course, there was the matter of trace metals in his body. Well, that couldn't be helped.

And then, in the process of grabbing a bag, half-sure he might not even come back home, he realized what he was doing, what he was risking. If it came down to it and he fought with Erik, if the worse possible scenario happened, his family wouldn't forgive him. Nor would he want them to. He would lose his home by as much his own will as by the will of the two women upstairs. He wouldn't allow himself back into the home, inviting chaos with him. He'd already taken more than enough risks with their lives during his own reckless life.

And Charles might never forgive him. At the very least, Pietro would never be able to let Charles into his head again and the man would surely wonder why.

Drowning in embarrassment and anger, how could he ever let Charles into his mind again anyway?

Pietro sucked in a deep breath and then packed his clothes and a few trace belongings anyway. Both his earlier plan and this one led to it, after all.

Then he looked around the basement, at the embarrassment his life was. Stacks of boxes, electronics, things his mother never could have afforded, nor he could have afforded in a way a normal person could have, being jobless. The pathetic sight tore at him.

Why did Charles want him? Or worse, if the telepath hadn't been in his head, would he have ever wanted him?

With a shake of his head that sent silver locks flying, he stormed up the stairs and into the living room, where his sister sat in front of the television, and then dining room where his mother sat at the table, gripping her long hair in her hands as she cried silently.

Much of his anger drained out of him at the sight. He walked closer until he stood next to her and then crouched down at her side. He touched her arm and she raised her head and looked at him with red stained eyes.

"Mom, I'm going. I'm going to talk to him. Do you want me to tell him anything for you?"

"I..." Her arms lowered and she once again touched his cheek. "I don't have anything to say to him. Just don't let anything happen to you."

"Don't worry about me."

She smiled sadly. "Is that even possible?"

The young man kissed her cheek and murmured, "Tell the princess I'll be back in a week or less."

The woman smiled again for a moment and then he disappeared from her tearful gaze.

 **Chapter 6: The Truth About Love**

Being a Saturday, a day of no school, most of the residents of the mansion were outside having fun, relaxing in front of televisions or with friends, or engrossed with a book or computer. None of them had a care that there was a monster living in their midst.

Pietro roamed the halls of the mansion, uninvited, searching for the monster who was supposedly his father. He was in and out of rooms and hallways before anyone could notice.

Eventually though, Pietro knew, Charles would realize his presence, so his time of free reign was limited. And along with the certainty of Charles getting in his way, on the other end, the silver-haired man still had no clue what he was going to do when he actually found Erik.

To make matters worse, the longer it took to find him, the less certain Pietro was that he even wanted to lay eyes on him, let alone speak with him.

If his mother had told the truth, Erik had no idea he was a father to him, nor had Erik ever been a father to him, so really, what would be the point of a confrontation? What could possibly be gained? Pietro was now a man, after all. And his mother didn't even have a word to say to her ex-lover. To even insinuate paternity at that point was rather absurd and pointless.

After having searched through more than half of the mansion in less than a minute, he was already ready to say, "Screw it," and walk back out the front door to regroup and come up with some type of real plan for his own life. It was then that he finally found the man. And Charles. The two were on either side of a chess board in a study on the second floor. From what Pietro saw as he looked down at the board, Erik was winning. And from Charles' concentrated frown, his fingers pinching his bottom lip, the game was probably why the man had yet to notice him.

For a childish moment, Pietro considered rearranging the pieces on the board to say a gracious, "Fuck you," in Erik's direction, but he didn't think Charles would appreciate it much.

The silver-haired man blew out a huff of air and then looked back to Erik and tried to hate the man with everything in him, but just couldn't do it. If Charles had accepted him back into his home then...

Then didn't his 'father' have some saving virtue?

Well, then again, Charles was willing to take Pietro into his home, a thief and a cheat. Perhaps Charles wasn't the best judge of character. Or perhaps he just had an over-confidence that people could change. People didn't change without a reason though. And if Erik really had changed, what was his reason?

With the way Erik was looking at Charles, he suddenly didn't want to know.

When Charles began to look in his direction, the younger man realized he'd stayed near them for too long. The man caressed his mind and set off every warning bell Pietro had.

/Don't!/ His mind hissed the single word with elongated effort.

Pulling his hand away from his mouth, Charles' brows slowly began to dip down, and Erik's expression mimicked the professor's. /What's wrong?/

/Just stay out of my head./ Pietro tried to keep his thoughts contained, tried to black out his mind except for that single thought. He wasn't sure he'd succeeded, but Charles seemed to leave.

Then Erik began to turn his head in the silver-haired man's direction as well. Pietro realized he hadn't needed to worry about metal, if he'd truly wanted to harm the other man. He had the power to end all of this so quickly. He could have snapped the other man's neck, thrown him forcefully from the top of the mansion, drowned him in the pool outside, all before his 'father' could even comprehend it. He saw those actions in his mind in graphic detail, and the dark thoughts tore him from the room. He was outside again in a moment, trying to catch his breath as his heart raged.

/Pietro-/

/Please just leave me alone!/

For a moment, there was quiet, but then the man thought, /Stay there. I'll come to you./

/Please, I'm not ready to talk about this with you./

Knowing for certain the other man wouldn't give up so easily, when the moment lengthened, Pietro knew Charles had surely seen fragments of thought in his mind. He'd tried to not think about Erik and everything the man entailed, but the irony of such an effort was that it would most definitely backfire.

The worse irony was that he'd just left Charles alone with the very object of his thoughts. Would he say something to Erik? The thought petrified him.

Charles didn't have the right!

Lost in the flood of emotions, he didn't know what to do. Didn't know what was worse, leaving or confronting Erik as he'd planned to do.

Confront him? The young man shook his head as he realized the absurdity of it all. Confrontation was for people who knew something. He should have listened to his mother. He should have taken the hint and gotten over it as graciously as she had. He should have just stayed home and found a way to deal with the discovery on his own. Erik had no part in their lives and meant nothing to them.

And Pietro realized then that he was in no way ready to have a father, especially an unwelcome one.

When he readied himself to run again, he'd only gotten himself a short distance when Charles thought, /Don't leave./ Pietro came to an unwilling standstill at the thought. /I'm coming to you./

The young man turned his head to look at the mansion entrance. It hadn't even been a minute since he'd run away from their game. The two men had been on the second floor. He'd have several minutes of waiting if he actually just stayed put.

"Just run..." he said, his voice empty in the cool morning air, but so fast no creature could have understood him.

/Pietro-/

/Stay out of my head!/

/Okay. But I'm still coming to you./

The older man's persistence grated on him until he wanted to rage on something. He'd known this was going to happen, but he also hadn't come up with a way to deal with it. He didn't know how to deal with it. He should have just left, but something kept him there. Unfortunately it was probably the emotions, the love even, that he felt for Charles.

Pietro didn't want the man to hate him. Just the mere idea of it tore his mind to pieces.

"Just run," he whispered.

But then his feet edged back towards the mansion, seemingly of their own accord, before he forced himself to grow up a bit and move with ambition. When he reentered, he caught sight of the man coming out of the elevator. Thankfully, Erik wasn't with him. But then he suddenly wished Erik would have been, because he knew he was only going to avoid him now. If Pietro had any intention of living in the mansion, that avoidance was going to quickly become a tiresome ordeal.

When Charles caught sight of him, he said, staying out of his mind as Pietro had begged him to, "Let's go to..."

The words, every syllable took forever and beyond. Did everything have to be so fucking slow? By the end of the first word, tears ran down Pietro's face from his utter frustration over everything. The tears became sobs by the third word.

That moment wasn't the first time in his life that he'd thought about suicide, but it was the first time the thought was serious. The seriousness seemed like something should have come so much earlier to his ancient mind.

How much could he really take of this slow world? How long would it be before he went insane from loneliness and need?

He remembered again why he didn't have friends, why he kept with the simplicity of his life at home. He couldn't deal with this, with people and their slowness, especially when they expected so much from him, expected him to reduce himself to their level. Especially when they didn't give one rat's ass fuck about him, outside of freak-show amusement and greed.

Life for him was just so unbelievably difficult. And no one could possibly understand why he wanted to rip his heart out of his chest and be done with it.

His hand touched the nearby wall. Then his back edged down it until he was seated there. Sobs wracked him but he couldn't stop them. He wanted to so badly because the sobs were so pathetic, but the will wasn't there. Then Charles' voice drifted over to him, nearly lost in Pietro's own noise, but he heard him and looked up.

The worry he saw in Charles' face... The man was still a short distance away and slowly moving forward, although by normal human standards, he was moving rather fast.

He listened to the sounds coming from Charles and realized the man was saying his name. He shook his head as his face crinkled up, tears dripping. With his mind, he called out, /Please slow me down. I can't take this./

The man would be in his head, and if Charles hadn't known the truth before, he'd know it now, but it didn't matter anymore. Fate could take Erik where it willed. He just wanted to be able to talk to Charles like he knew he could.

When his mind slowed down and the whispers around him became like rushing water, Charles said to the few who had gathered, "Go about your business, please."

His face red with embarrassment and pain, Pietro almost begged Charles to let him go again so that he could run, his mind changing in one moment to the next.

The telepath reached down his hand, leaning forward in his chair, and touched his shoulder. "Come, let's go to the study."

Pietro scrutinized the man's face, the quick, reassuring smile that grew on it. What he felt then... He didn't know if it was love, but it was so strong. The feeling took over every part of him and overwhelmed him. The feeling brought new tears. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have come here. I should have just stayed away, but I thought..."

The hand at his shoulder gripped him. "Pietro, I want you here. If I could have come to you instead, I would have, but unfortunately my life is more than merely my own."

The warmth in Charles' voice brought renewed tears. He dropped his head to his knees and cried. It seemed like forever, but within a couple of minutes, the sobs lessened with Charles' continued nearness and the caresses at his shoulder. And then he looked up at the older man again. The sight of wet lines on the other man's cheeks broke him completely.

Perhaps not trusting his own voice, Charles said in his mind, /Come with me./

Pietro blinked. An absurd, hormonal heat pooled in him as the words made him want to kiss the other man over and over again, and force him to say them over and over again for more than one reason. Doing so would have been infinitely better than dwelling in his own dark mind.

"I didn't mean it quite that way," Charles whispered, color coming to his cheeks. But then a side of his mouth curved up as his hand came up the younger man's cheek. "Let's go, unless of course, you -were- hoping to attract the crowd I chased away."

Trying to resist the urge to lean into the man's touch, Pietro smiled at the man's easy forgiveness and acceptance. And to think there was a time when Charles hadn't wanted to accept himself even. Well, perhaps that was the time when the older man had gained those traits.

"Perhaps, but it was still a work in progress," Charles admitted with a smile.

Embarrassed at his caught thoughts, Pietro looked away, forcing Charles to drop his hand, rubbed the wetness from his face, and muttered, "Sorry."

"Are you going to make me ask you to come yet again?"

The younger man pressed his lips together, trying to squash a foolish grin. "Maybe." Then the grin escaped anyway. He stood up and walked next to other man, heading to their familiar room at the end of an increasingly familiar hallway. How long would it be before he could call the place his home?

As they walked, he couldn't help but look at Charles and remember the other man the telepath had been with minutes before. He remembered the way Erik had been looking at the professor, the desire he'd seen there. As soon as the thought came to him, Charles halted and looked up at him. Pietro gritted his teeth and looked back.

This one-way flow of thoughts wasn't fair in the least.

Apparently embracing the unintended distraction, Charles muttered, "You're right, it isn't fair."

The gritted teeth switched to downward brows when Pietro realized the telepath hadn't denied an ability to allow him to see into his mind. Charles' brows furrowed after the thought, looking away. "Can you?"

Charles moved on then, in an obvious refusal to answer the question, and entered the study.

Pietro was right behind him. "You can do it, can't you?" He closed the door solidly behind himself.

The older man refused to turn to him so he walked around him. And then he crouched down when the brunette refused to look up. The glower he received didn't dissuade him in the least.

"You have no real complaint about being in my mind, yet... Why wouldn't you let me in yours?"

The older man's jaw tightened as he seemingly attempted to stare Pietro down, but then finally he looked down at his hands and said quietly, "For you to see my thoughts... It would take a more conscious effort on my part. I'm sure you can imagine the difficulty for me, and for the same reasons my being in your head troubles you." The man looked up at him and offered a weak smile. "I doubt you truly want to know what goes on in my head."

"So you can do it."

"Yes... When I let you feel my emotions when we kissed, well, it's much the same, but more involved. But I doubt it would be as productive as you seem to think. To jumble our thoughts together..." Charles huffed. "It would make a rather large mess."

Pietro got down on his knees, wanting to be closer. He pressed his torso against the man's knees and let his hands reach around Charles' waist to clutch at his back. "I want to know what you think. I do."

Charles' smile deepened. "I think you'd change your mind."

The younger man grinned with a shake of his head. "I seriously doubt your thoughts could ever be that bad."

The brunette's hand weaved through silver hair. "I have the voices of thousands in my head. My mind is not as glorious as you might think."

"You mean..." The idea constricted Pietro's heart. "You can't keep them out?"

"No, not entirely. But it has gotten better, to the point where I can actually sleep at night again, although with you..." The hand in his hair moved to trace Pietro's jaw. "Believe me, you don't want to be inside my mind."

The younger man suddenly realized at least partially the extent of pain he'd caused the other man by asking for so much attention on his mind. "I-I'm so sorry."

With a small shake of his head, Charles leaned forward and kissed him, deepening it from one moment to the next. Pietro loved the feel of it, of him. But it was more than that. Pietro loved him and in that moment, he knew it with utter clarity. After all, who could not love him? And if Erik did love Charles, he completely understood why.

The brunette pulled away with a small laugh. "He would never admit such a thing."

"But he does, doesn't he?"

"Yes."

"Do you love him?"

Charles huffed again, and then kissed him, slowly, tenderly. It was a silly question to ask. How could Charles not love those around him, when he knew their thoughts as intimately as his own?

Lost in the kiss, he didn't want to pull away to ask, but he somehow found the will. "Do you love me?"

There was no hesitation with the, "Yes."

"Why?" He'd asked it, even if he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know the answer.

After a moment of thought, Charles murmured, "Because you care so much, even when you don't want to. You want everything to be good, but you just don't know how to make it that way. You can forgive, even when you don't want to. And you love your family more than life itself, just as they love you, something I envy. Not everyone is like that." Charles kissed him again, as if he couldn't get enough. And then he pulled away and smiled at him. "I know you're not perfect, but that'll never stop you from being who you are. You're a good person."

Pietro pressed his lips together, trying to not cry. "I think the same of you."

Charles kissed him again until both men were breathless. But before the moment their lips touched, he hadn't thought it possible to love Charles any more. He'd been so wrong.

 **Chapter 7: A Chance at Being "Normal"**

After grabbing his bag outside where he'd left it, when Charles led him upstairs, Pietro couldn't get rid of his nervousness. He wasn't normally one to experience such an emotion, so settled in his life with his family, but here, amongst so many unfamiliar faces, he couldn't help but feel the stares.

Did they all know about the closeness he'd shared with the professor? Or the kissing and touching that felt so unbelievably good, that drained his rational mind? Did they know that Charles Xavier had said he loved him?

For over an hour, lost in his love for the man, he'd confessed and confided in the other man about things Charles probably already knew. Charles had shared things in return. Eventually, Pietro had somehow managed to forget that Charles was still in his mind, slowing him down. By the end of that hour, so engrossed, he could barely remember what it was like to be fast.

Still, despite their openness, there was one topic he hadn't been able to talk about out loud, namely Erik. And as Charles led him into a bedchamber that was to be Pietro's room alone, he couldn't help but wonder where Erik spent his nights and instantly hated the jealous thought. It was absurd to be jealous of his own father!

Turning around, Charles looked up at him with a frown. "While I didn't have the best reputation when I first met him..." Then the man offered the barest hint of a smirk. "I do have a certain amount of restraint over whom I throw my body to."

The words made the younger man's guts tighten. At that point, he had to wonder why Charles didn't simply out him. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Didn't you?"

Pietro pressed his lips together and looked away, his hands clutching his bag. He hated feeling vulnerable like this and wished thoughts of Erik would stay out of his head.

But what if Charles was lying and he was sleeping with his father? Did Pietro even have a right to protest? No, not really. Just because Charles had kissed him and offered his love, that didn't mean the man was his.

As the thought rolled around in the younger man's mind, the telepath's smirk vanished as the frown returned. "Pietro, I'm not sleeping with him. I..." The silver-haired man turned back to study him at the pause. After a few moments, Charles continued softly, "I'm not sleeping with anyone. And I haven't for a long time. For years."

Perhaps Pietro was just too physically and emotionally into this beautiful man, but he couldn't believe the man wasn't with someone, even if the said person was merely a friend with benefits or even a stranger. "But why?" As soon as he asked it, he regretted it, realizing he could probably correctly guess the answer.

"I'll let you get settled," Charles mumbled, already rolling around him towards the door.

"Charles-"

The man stopped with hard grips on the wheels, his teeth gritted. A short time later, he confessed, "I... I'm just not ready."

"But..." But what about what they'd shared? He knew the professor had felt the same burning desire he did. Okay, maybe the man wasn't sleeping with anyone else, but for Charles to say he wasn't ready...

Charles eyed him and then chuckled with a small shake of his head as a smile slipped. "You're the fastest being ever born to this world, yet you don't even see my impediments."

Flabbergasted that Charles would even think it was an issue, considering the strength of the telepath's mind and body, Pietro blurted out, "Why would I? You're the same person I met a year ago. And..." He huffed. "If it makes you feel any better, you're no faster or slower than the rest of them. You're just different. In the most wonderful way possible. If you weren't who you are..."

Knowing the other man could see in his mind, Charles couldn't doubt his words, but he apparently took it upon himself to finish the silver-haired man's words with, "If I wasn't this way, we probably wouldn't be together, would we? Fate brings people together, just as it tears them apart."

"Our fate may be written, but we still have a say right at this moment."

Charles smirked. "Are you telling me I should seize the moment, forget my inhibitions, and simply lie on the bed for you?"

The words brought a flood of heat through the younger man, as his body seemed to agree with every one of them. His mind, well, that pretty much agreed as well.

The man's smile drained away, slowly but surely. "If... If we were to sleep together... I'm not sure I could control your mind through the whole thing."

The words were something Pietro had already considered over the previous weeks, but with Charles' confirmation, the idea gave him true pause. Visions of possible unintentional ravaging made his body constrict.

"I... I'm not sure..." Charles watched him carefully as his words trailed off.

"Not sure we should?" Pietro gritted his teeth at the wholly different kind of rejection than the one from days before. His heart raced as his hatred of his life peaked at a whole new level.

"Pietro-"

"Just get out of my head!" Unable to turn away despite Pietro's own words, looking down, he watched the other man's will deflate almost as much as his posture did in the wheelchair. At the same time, something occurred to him that should have occurred to him days, weeks, even a year before. "When I met you... You were walking and you didn't have your abilities, right?"

"Yes..."

"How did you do it?"

Charles stared at him, his expression was deceptively blank, as if bottled up memories had taken away his mind.

Pietro moved to stand in front of the professor and crouched down. "Charles, how did you do it?"

A small smile took hold as the man shook his head slightly, clearly not wanting to answer. "Drugs."

Drugs? Could the answer to everything really be so simple?

"It's not simple. They... the drug can be quite addictive. It can take away who you are, not just cover up a mutation."

"But... You obviously stopped taking them. The effects are only temporary?"

"Pietro... You don't need to change who you are. You-"

"But you have this drug," the younger man blurted out, interrupting the other man, a hope flooding through him. "And you didn't tell me? Instead..." Pietro shook his head, suddenly utterly confused. "Why would you want to be inside of my head when there could be such a simple way to control my mutation?"

Again, Charles breathed, his agitation clear, "It's not simple. And..."

"And what?"

The telepath stared at him, his breathing growing heavy. As the moments passed, it got to the point where Pietro wanted to shake the answer out of him. "I..." the man began, but the words faltered, and he looked away towards the window across the room.

"Charles?"

"I-I just wanted to be in your mind. It... It's exhilarating, and painful, and disorientating, and so..."

Taking a stab at it, Pietro offered, "You think if I took the drug, I'd no longer be with you?"

"Would you be?"

Those words alone were disorientating to Pietro, probably as much as they were to Charles. They made him rethink their relationship, but from Charles' point of view. Pietro remembered then his own questions over the weeks that wondered that exact same thing. And he couldn't help but think the brunette had caught them and took them to heart.

Then another question struck him: Could Charles have really loved him from the start?

The thought brought Charles to stare back at him for a moment before color came to the man's cheeks. His mouth opened, then closed, and then murmured, "I don't know if it was love right from the start, but... Our time together in the recent weeks, I want more of it."

"Even if you can't sleep properly?"

Charles smiled and caressed the younger man's cheek. "Perhaps I just have a mind prone to addiction."

The man was addicted to him? The idea shouldn't have thrilled him, but it did anyway. Pietro leaned into the touch, his eyes closing, as the warm fingertips called heat to his body. He hummed a sigh. "I want to make love to you. So badly."

The man's other hand pressed against his other cheek. Pietro stood, bent down, and claimed the other man's mouth. Claiming him, the whole of him, was exactly what he wanted to do. Any doubt of that fact had already vanished, despite Charles' apparent apprehension. And leaving the older man was no longer even a choice. If Charles wanted to be rid of him, he'd have to do it by force.

/And did you hear that?/

The telepath smiled and then kissed him with a deep aggression that tried to pull him under to extinguish all thought. Nonetheless Pietro couldn't help begging:

/If it'll keep you safe, let me take the drug... I want you so badly./

The hands on his cheeks pressed him back, and Charles studied his face. "It's not a good idea."

"Why? I won't leave you."

"It just... I guess I just don't have good experiences with the drug. I mean, I suppose it helps Hank, but..."

"Hank takes it? It that why he's not blue all the time?"

"Yes."

"So the drug gives you the ability to choose whether or not you want your mutation to be active?"

"At proper dosages, yes, it can help do that."

A hope for a normal life flooded him, the kind Pietro never thought he'd be blessed with. He gripped the hands still at his cheeks, bringing one to his lips to kiss it, before he said, "I want to try it. I mean, if it doesn't work, I can always stop taking it, right? And anything it does won't be permanent?"

"Physically, yes."

And mentally?

Pietro shook his head at the thought and tried to reassure the man with, "I'll be okay. Considering that these last few weeks haven't destroyed my mind, I doubt this drug will."

It took nearly a minute for Charles to mutter, "If it's what you want..."

"I want to try."

"All right, put your bag on the bed, and we'll see Hank about it."

His body nearly trembling at the mere thought of the possibilities, Pietro did as instructed and followed Charles out of the room and to a lab on the opposite side of the mansion on the bottom floor. Walking with him, the professor completely silent except for his hands on the wheels and his disturbed breaths...

Despite his will to stop them, the first real pangs of doubt and fear squeezed into Pietro's mind.

 **Chapter 8: The Reality of the Situation**

End Notes:  
I hope you liked the story. Thank you to everyone who read this. I appreciate all of the comments, kudos, bookmarks, and subscriptions!

Pushing his glasses up his nose, Hank raised his gaze from a pile of wrinkled schematics when they entered the lab. Then a broad smile formed as he stood up. "Is there something I can help you both with today?"

"Yes, there is," Charles said, his voice warm, as he continued towards the large metal table Hank had been seated at.

Pietro followed behind and, as Hank's gaze shifted solely to him, the younger man watched a curiosity grow in Hank, shown with a pursing of his lips and a scrunching of brows. Pietro had to resist clearing his throat, but couldn't help looking away to Charles when they reached the table.

"Yes, my friend, I am," the telepath said out of nowhere, his smile replacing Hank's, as Pietro flickered a frown between them.

The scientist's smile returned, though more hesitant. "Sorry." Hank grinned sheepishly at Pietro. "A year ago, you would have already gone through half the stuff in here before I could spot you, let alone put up some kind of protest."

Pietro pressed his lips together, but then huffed anyway, admitting, "Yeah, I probably would have."

A year ago, yes, he had been a different person, one who had no real problem stealing, meddling, and snooping where he didn't belong. But after seeing on television what had happened, the chaos and death that so easily overcame the nation, the world, so much of his thrill seeking had stopped, games that had been a needed distraction from reality.

Today, no, he still wasn't a perfect little mutant who could play nice with all the other little mutants, but the truth about the frailty of life had made him realize how easily everything, even his family, could be lost. It was a lesson that had cemented itself into his brain, even though it wasn't something he remembered through every second of life's slow drudgery.

Hank gestured Pietro to a seat and sat back down. "So..."

"Pietro would like to try to formula you developed for me," Charles said as he clasped his hands together on his lap.

The scientist looked between the two men, brows raised in obvious surprise. "Well, sure, of course. I mean..." The puzzlement renewed as the man looked to Charles.

"I haven't seen you at a loss for words for a while."

It was Pietro's turn to look between them. Obviously there was far more going on between the two men than he knew about, leaving him feeling once again like an outsider.

Charles turned to him and smiled weakly at Pietro's agitated confusion. "After the "accident" that took away my ability to walk, Hank took it upon himself to nurse me back to health. Unfortunately it was an endless ordeal, even with the drug he developed in an attempt to help me take control of my life once again."

When Charles looked back to Hank, Pietro could see the history between the two older men, the blatant 'I'm sorry' in his eyes, as well as the telepath's adoration for his friend. Pietro swallowed at it and hated his own insecurity. He shook his head, trying to banish the terrible emotion. He couldn't go around being jealous of every person Charles loved. If the telepath noticed the thoughts and emotions though, thankfully he didn't show it.

A moment later, Charles continued with, "But in the end, despite Hank's friendship, I had to help myself. I admit, it did take a while, but I came to realize what's important in my life, in the world. I stopped my excessive drinking and I stopped taking the drug, because between the two of them, I was denying who I am and was taking for granted those around me whom I love. And, really, I was of no use to anyone in that state. I no longer wanted to waste space." The professor shook his head slightly and looked at Pietro. "A drug can never be a fix all, however much aspiration went into its development."

Pietro pressed his lips together before he could say with affirmation, "I understand what you're saying. I don't expect it to work miracles. I just..." He wanted to declare exactly how every cell in him felt, but in his shyness, Hank's presence stopped him. /I want to be with you./

/You can be with me either way./

/Charles, I... I want you./ When Charles frowned, Pietro nearly growled his frustration at his own hormonal urges.

But really, even though he'd thought it and meant it, at the same time, it was more than that. He wanted to be able to talk to Charles, to other people with ease. He truly did, even if the idea frightened him since he wouldn't be able to run nor hide like he could now. But he couldn't run and hide forever, could he? And he wasn't happy living in what nearly amounted to his own world. How much worse could being slow possibly be? It just couldn't be worse.

When he refocused his attention on Charles, he realized the man was starting at him with so much intensity that heat rushed through him. He opened his mouth to try to release the tension that enveloped so many emotions, but couldn't find the words.

Hank suddenly cleared his throat, drawing both men's attention. "Well, Charles, if you'll excuse us, I'll give him a quick physical before we discuss side effects and such." When the professor's tension thickened, Hank offered, "I'll send him back to you when we're finished."

After a moment, Hank nodded, Pietro assuming at unspoken words, and Charles took to looking at Pietro again with an anxiety that tensed the younger man's whole body. At first, Pietro didn't think the other man would leave, but then he said, "I'll leave you two then."

Pietro tried to offer a reassuring smile he didn't really feel, and then Charles left the room, and the younger man looked to Hank, his smile dropping away at normal human speed.

"He's still in your head, isn't he?"

After a nervous chuckle, he said, "Yes."

"Charles, leave us, would you? No harm will come to him."

Almost immediately, the world slowed down. The sudden disorientation and loss made him want to beg for the man to come back. How long had Charles been in his head at that point? Almost two hours? More than enough time to feel like Charles and his world were a part of himself.

Hank must have noticed his disorientation when he slowly stood up and walked away, saying, "A year ago, he didn't even want to acknowledge his mutant ability. Now, well..."

While Hank edged to wherever he was going, Pietro, trying to distract himself from his own turmoil that dizzied his mind, shuffled through the schematics which depicted some type of car although with odd additions. When he finished with those, Hank still hadn't made it to his destination, so he leafed through the rest of the papers on the table, not really seeing them.

Finally Hank made it to a cupboard and shifted through the supplies in it. Pietro watched him for a few seconds that seemed like an eternity. When the scientist edged his body back around, Pietro walked up to him and was there before Hank could even take a step in his direction. When he seemingly materialized in front of Hank, the look of surprise that took hold and the step backwards were admittedly a bit amusing. That was, until Pietro had to force out words slow enough so that Hank could understand them.

"I'm saving us both some effort," Pietro said with a smile.

Hank blinked and said, "Yeah, sure, okay. We can just do it here." Another intrigued blink and the man put on the stethoscope he'd grabbed and put it to Pietro's chest. The amazement that widened Hank's eyes unsettled him. "I can't even detect your heartbeat. It's like a single sound... Have you been to a doctor recently?"

"No, not after they..." He didn't want to talk about the dozens of staring faces and painful medical procedures they'd claimed were necessary to get to the bottom of his unheard of peculiarities. "After I could crawl, my mom had a hard time catching me to take me. She gave up trying years ago. I don't like doctors much."

Hank nodded his understanding, even if he didn't know the details, but then he shook his head, saying, "Do you eat more than a normal person would?"

Pietro nodded. "Yes... I get hungry quickly too, I suppose."

The scientist crossed his arms over his own chest, while muttering, almost more to himself, "With your heartrate and, most likely, your metabolism, I mean, with the rate your whole body operates, I'm not sure if I could even pump enough of the serum into you to counteract your mutation and get it under control. We could try, but I might have to make more serum first. And the moment your mutation got under control... Timing the reduction of the dosage would have to be so precise. Otherwise you could..." The brunette shook his head again, clearly not wanting to say the words. Pietro completely stilled when he realized what the other man was trying to tell him. "And unless you overdosed like Charles used to, which has side effects of its own, the moment your body is stressed, the serum would be eaten out of your system..." Became stressed? As in sexual contact, for instance? "Pietro, in all honesty, if you're truly seeking to control your mutation with this drug, you'll probably have to remain hooked up to an injector for the rest of your life. This drug is probably not the answer you're..."

The younger man was out of the lab and outside in a moment, breathing heavily, creating a forceful wind in the process that ached his lungs. He pressed his hands over his heart, trying to will it into submission, but the stress only mounted.

He could barely wrap his head around the absurdity of it all. Was life really so fucking unfair? What the hell had he done in life to deserve this? Then again, maybe he wasn't alive. Maybe this was hell. Surely it was. Surely no god would do this to one of its creations. Surely he'd done something in life to deserve eternal punishment in death, some sin he couldn't even remember.

Between raging and dripping tears, he didn't stop running until he reached the ocean. The sunlight caressed the waves as evening drew close. Halted, at least for the moment, Pietro plopped down on the sand with no grace and let the waves edge over his legs and then pull on them, as if inviting him into the water. He weakly smiled at the feel of it. If he took the invitation, he wondered, how far he could run underneath the surface before he ran out of air?

Sudden motion beside him startled him. He jerked his head to it and saw Charles sit down next to him. The waves didn't even notice he was there. The man's appearance, even if it wasn't real, finally brought tears to the younger man's eyes. /Please, Charles, leave me alone./

When the man didn't leave his mind, the silver-haired man growled and laid down completely, letting the water push over him. Unfortunately his face was too high to go under. The water muffling his ears did nothing to stop the voice in his head.

/Are you all right?/

/What do you think? ...Did you know what he'd say?/

/I had my suspicions./

"I don't know what to do." He'd said the words abnormally fast, but Charles seemed to understand when his fingers brushed his cheek but couldn't actually touch him. His tears joined the saltwater. "I just want something normal for once. Is that too much to ask for?"

/Your family?/

Pietro didn't bother trying to dissuade the man. The words were true, after all. He thought about his mother and sister, feeling as if he hadn't thought about them for weeks, when it'd only been that morning he'd last spoken to them.

"You know you're right... I guess, I just... I just want you, but I don't know how that can happen."

/You already have me. And I want you. So much. I swear to you, we will work this out, one way or another./

His head turned enough to study Charles' face, as the man watched him in return, not quite believing the man had said those words. "You mean that?"

/I do./

The two words renewed his tears and he wiped at his face. "Can you see me?"

Charles smiled. /No. I can only see what you see./

Sitting up again ungracefully as the sand mushed underneath him, ashamed of his tears, he huffed and slicked back wet silver hair. "Good."

The telepath reached out again, trying to touch him. Instead he ended up resorting to the same words he'd said days before: /Stop running from me, Pietro/

"I'm sorry, I just..." His regret, his countless mistakes, they boiled in him and tried to make him disbelieve Charles still wanted him.

/If you're sorry, then come back to me./

Pietro pressed his lips together, looking at the projection of the professor, of the man he loved, of the man who wanted him whatever his impediments were and loved him in return.

"I will." And in one moment to the next, he did.


End file.
